No Love
by VegetaCold
Summary: Shuichi always thought it would be the worst thing in the world if Yuki left him. But when the writer's cold attitude becomes more than he can bear, Shuichi finds that it is he who is packing his bags and leaving. By the time the preoccupied Yuki realizes what he's lost, will it be too late to get Shuichi back?
1. Chapter 1

He was having the same dream again—the dream he had every night without fail, a nightmare which haunted him. It was really no surprise that he had this dream time and time again—after all, when one thinks of a subject exclusively and with such intensity during their waking hours, it is only natural that those thoughts should follow them into their sleep. And there was not a moment in which Shuichi Shindou's thoughts were not preoccupied by his muse, Yuki Eiri, the person he adored more than anyone or anything else on this earth. He spent nearly every waking moment thinking about his love for this man; he thought about how his heart felt as though it might burst when he saw Yuki's golden eyes, felt his silky yellow hair, heard his seductively deep voice. While his focus should have been on his singing career each day when he went to work, he thought instead about how happy he would be when it came time to go home, where he could once again retreat into Yuki's arms and fall asleep there as usual. Each day, he thought that he would do anything for Yuki, and the hope alone that Yuki felt the same way about him filled his heart with joy.

So, he would wonder each morning when he awoke from his slumber, why were his dreams filled with such coldness and hate?

The dream always started different; he and Yuki might be at the amusement park riding the roller coaster, or taking a walk along some imaginary beach, or having dinner together. No matter what occasion it was, the love and happiness they shared in that dreamscape always made Shuichi feel as though he'd died and gone to heaven. And he never wanted it to end.

Inevitably, it always did.

Yuki's mood seemed only to change when Shuichi had finally gotten comfortable enough to forget that it was just a dream and nothing more—and as a result, the hurt that followed felt even more real than the previous bliss. Yuki would always begin to scream at him, telling him that he was stupid, worthless, and a waste of his time. These insults felt so real, in fact, that Shuichi often awoke in the darkness with tears streaming down his cheeks. It soon became hard to separate the dream Yuki from the real one; often, their demeanor was all too similar.

The dreams always ended with Yuki leaving, and it often felt like a replay of the real-life end to their very first date, when Shuichi had gone to buy them drinks and had returned only to find that his muse had disappeared, seemingly forever. In the dreams Shuichi always felt himself being pulled away from his lover, and no matter how hard he fought against it, some invisible dream-force never failed to compel him to leave Yuki for one reason or another. And when he could finally find the strength to run back, slowed by the anti-gravity of so many dreams, Yuki was gone. Always gone.

Then would come the dread of being alone. The terrible lurch of heartbreak.

" _Yuki!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, feeling his chest ache and his heart pound. "Yuki, no! Don't leave me! Don't leave!"_

 _But he was already alone._

" _I'll die without you!" he screamed, but no one replied._

 _No one cared._

When he opened his eyes, it was still dark—not so dark, however, that he couldn't see the silhouette of his lover beside him, and he felt more than heard himself sigh in relief.

"Thank God," Shuichi breathed out quietly, not wanting to wake Yuki, who he was sure would get angry at being disturbed. The alarm clock beside him said that it was a little past three in the morning, and though Shuichi knew it was far too early to get up, he also recognized that he would not be able to get back to sleep. This was just the norm of his life.

 _I know_ , Shuichi thought to himself. _I'll take a shower. That should help calm me down._

Carefully climbing out of bed, Shuichi paused for a moment and held his breath as his lover shifted, sighing quietly in his sleep and turning over. When Yuki's breathing regained its usual soft evenness—a quality that had always soothed Shuichi—the younger man let out another sigh of relief, happy that he wouldn't be getting a lecture about being more quiet this early in the morning from his lover. Despite what Yuki may have thought, his persistent yelling did hurt Shuichi's feelings more than he let on, and the pink-haired singer would do whatever he could to avoid being berating.

Shuichi pawed his way through the darkened bedroom towards the bathroom door, managing not to trip on the clothing the two lovers had hastily stripped themselves of and thrown on the floor when they'd retreated to the bed a few hours prior. Shuichi's cheeks flushed pink as he touched his neck, where Yuki had roughly bitten him to claim him—more than once, in fact. Yuki had been a lot more rough than usual, and a part of Shuichi wondered whether or not it was partially out of spite, payback for how talkative he'd been earlier in the day—if he had ignored Shuichi's pained groans and neglected to prepare him for their intercourse on purpose.

 _Was Yuki trying to hurt me?_ Shuichi thought as he clicked on the bathroom light and hastily closed the door, not wanting the glow to awaken the sleeping man.

Staring at himself in the mirror, Shuichi saw that his neck was a lot worse than he had imagined—it was absolutely _marred_ with bite marks and even a bit of dried blood. A part of Shuichi had liked the rough treatment, but there was no denying that what he saw in the mirror before him was at least a little worrying. Rather than having spent the night with his lover, it looked as though he'd been attacked by some rabid, hungry animal.

But then again, maybe he had.

Keeping his eyes on his reflection, Shuichi reached into the shower and blindly felt for the knob to turn on the water. But before his hand could touch the cold, hard metal handle that he was by now so accustomed to, his fingers brushed something else. Something furry. Something that moved.

Gasping and jerking back the plastic curtain, Shuichi's gaze landed on the most terrifyingly large spider he thought he had ever seen. It had massive legs and a huge, hairy body. When it moved, it crawled away from Shuichi with chilling speed. Undoubtedly, it was poisonous.

His face becoming white as a ghost's, Shuichi cowered away from the spindly creature, backing up against the wall. He swallowed down bile as he watched it, his mind racing.

 _Okay, this is no big deal_ , he reassured himself. _Just gotta grab that aerosol can and nuke it. No problem. I can do this. I'm not gonna wake Yuki up…not gonna wake Yuki up…_

Slowly reaching over to the sink, not taking his eyes off the beast all the while, Shuichi grabbed the shiny can of pine-scented air freshener and crept back over to the shower, holding his weapon of choice as though it were a gun and he was a trained officer of the law.

"Not gonna wake up Yuki," he repeated softly, this time aloud. "Can do this on my own. I'm not as worthless as he thinks…"

Getting as close to the spider as he dared, Shuichi aimed the nozzle at the creature, held his breath, and pressed down.

As a stream of the artificial pine scent permeated the air and hit the spider, the arachnid lurched forward at Shuichi from its spot on the wall and fell into the bathtub with an audible _thud_. As the spider began to sputter and thrash about on the smooth porcelain, suffering from the chemicals it had been misted with, Shuichi threw back his head and screamed at the top of his lungs, "YUKI! HELP!" before he could stop himself.

In the bedroom, Yuki's eyes shot open and in an instant he was sitting up. The yellow-haired man remained still for a moment, his breathing halted completely and his ears perked, as he waited in silence to confirm whether or not what he'd heard was real. Despite his usual dedication to his fearless bad-boy façade, his heart was racing, his hairs standing up on end, and he felt an undeniable spark of fear jolting through him as he looked around and realized that his small lover was no longer by his side. His dread increasing, he thought to himself, _Was that Shuichi? Where is he?_

A moment later, his question was answered in full when another scream came, this one much louder, "YUKI! OH, HOLY JESUS…PLEASE HELP!"

And with that, Yuki had sprung out of bed, as though possessed by some inhuman strength. He saw light coming from beneath the bathroom door and he ran there, ran almost as fast as the speed at which his thoughts were racing through his mind in that moment. In the span of as little as maybe thirty seconds, the time it took him to sprint over to the bathroom and wretch open the door, Yuki's more imaginative side had taken over and had conjured up every terrible scenario that could have possibly taken place, each seeming very real and very terrifying, no matter how absurd many of them truly were.

 _What if he fell and hit his head?_

 _What if he got his hair stuck in the drain and is drowning?_

 _What if he accidently cut himself with a razor while trying to shave and now he's going to bleed to death?_

 _What if he swallowed the mouthwash and now he's puking blood and I've got to take him to the hospital?_

 _What if somebody broke in while he was using the bathroom and is holding him hostage and they're about to shoot him?_

 _Oh my god oh my god oh my god._

But when Yuki laid his eyes upon the scene before him, his face paled, draining of any color it had previously had. Clearly, his imagination had been very far off.

There stood Shuichi, cowering in the corner and pointing at the bathtub with an accusatory, shaking finger. His eyes were closed as he murmured over and over, "Yuki, kill it please. Kill it, Yuki." With the way Shuichi was trembling, Yuki expected to see some sort of huge reptile coiled up in the tub, a pit viper or a big, scaly crocodile. But when the blond peered down into the tub, all he saw was a spider. A small one, at that. A dead one.

Maybe it was the fact that it was very early in the morning. Or maybe it was that he'd been woken so suddenly and forced from his warm bed. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Shuichi's screaming had actually scared him. Or maybe—just maybe—it was that Yuki didn't want to admit how worried he'd been for Shuichi when he hadn't known what was going on or where he was.

Whatever the reason, Yuki was _furious._ Slowly, he turned and faced his lover.

"Is this a fucking _joke_ , brat?" Yuki spat at him, getting in the younger man's face, easily intimidating him.

Shuichi was quiet for a moment—or rather, he'd been stunned into silence. It took him a moment before he could muster the strength to look his muse in the eyes, where he saw, much to his dismay and sadness, the fiery, unforgiving rage staring back at him, the fury plastered clearly across Yuki's face that he could neither deny or ignore. "Y-Yuki…" he stuttered softly. "It's not…it was…I…"

"You _what_?" Yuki yelled. "You thought it'd be funny to wake me up in the middle of the night for this shit? When you know I've got so much writing I have to get done tomorrow? Thought it'd be funny if I was too tired to meet my deadline?"

Shuichi backed up fully against the tiled wall, his body now trembling visibly—and it was not because of the spider. Shuddering as his lover took a step closer, the pink-haired singer began to plead softly. "N-no, Yuki, no! It wasn't a joke!"

Yuki snarled, reaching out and grabbing Shuichi's chin. "Not a joke, huh? Then you really were so terrified of a little bug? Helpless brat."

Shuichi whimpered, feeling as though he were a crippled sheep in the sights of a hungry wolf. He hated it when Yuki acted like this; it was so far from his usual, affectionate teasing. This attitude of his—easily offended, confrontational, and bitterly, bitterly mean, that was—always seemed to consume him whenever his writing got a bit too intense. Shuichi had thus far tolerated these moments as Yuki's personal whipping-post, because he loved the older man so much and he knew that his moods would pass eventually. Soon enough, he always told himself, Yuki would go back to acting cute and romantic, spending time with him and treating him like one should treat their significant other. He just had to wait it out.

 _But why?_ he thought. _Why should I have to wait to be treated with respect? Aren't we supposed to be in love? If we are, I don't feel any love at all._

Gathering the strength to stand up for himself—for what was perhaps the first time in months, since Yuki's newest novel had first gotten underway in fact—Shuichi shoved the writer's hand away and glared at the taller man with as much courage as he could muster. "Stop treating me like shit, Yuki."

Yuki looked a bit taken aback by this, but he quickly regained his composure, snarling down at his lover. As Shuichi met his gaze in that moment, the pink-haired singer was sure that this man—the person he had called his lover for so long—now hated him with everything in his being.

"You are shit," Yuki said matter-of-factly, before turning and heading towards the door. "Don't even fucking _think_ of sleeping in my bed tonight, brat. You can either take the couch or you can leave. You can get lost for all I care."

And with that, Yuki was gone.

As tears ran down his cheeks, Shuichi stared at the dead spider, wondering why it had to ruin everything. Why couldn't he have just had a simple shower and gone back to bed without a fight? Why did it have to destroy and taint all of the earlier happiness the night had brought them? Why?

 _It's not the spider's fault,_ Shuichi thought as he lay down on the cold leather sofa. _It's Yuki's. No one should yell at or degrade a person they claim to love for something as small as getting scared by a spider. It's not even like he lost any sleep—he's already in there, snoring his damn head off._

 _Maybe this should tell me something_ , Shuichi thought as he began to doze off. _I keep making excuses for him…but it's not the spider that caused the fight. It's him. His awful temper. It always has been._

 _Was I even happy earlier tonight? Was that really what I felt when he grabbed me and bit me and took me without caring?_

 _No. It was pain._

 _He made me bleed._

 _I've been dreaming all this time—worrying all this time—that he might leave me. But now I think I might be gone before he gets the chance._

Shuichi fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Shuichi awoke before Yuki. That was nothing unusual—Yuki, of course being a writer who worked from home, had no schedule to keep and often slept in as late as he wanted. There were some mornings where the blond man would rise to have breakfast with his younger lover before he left for the studio, but that usually didn't happen when he was close to a deadline for one of his books and certainly _never_ happened when he was in a bad mood. Shuichi was not naïve enough to have his hopes up, especially not this morning—but then again, a part of him was not sure he even wanted Yuki awake. In the past, he was sometimes so eager to spend time with his beloved that he would make an effort to rouse the sleeping author himself, but today was not one of those days, needless to say.

Shuichi made his way to the bathroom, slipping quietly past Yuki's bed, allowing his lover to sleep. As he prepared for his shower—got his towel, pried the dead spider off the bottom of the tub with an excessively large wad of toilet paper, started the water—he let his mind wander, trying to decide what should be done about last night's incident. The old Shuichi would have simply let it go, pretended it had never happened, maybe even groveled and apologized to Yuki simply to get on his good side, whether he owed him an apology or not—but something inside of him had changed, and he felt wholeheartedly that he could not allow his so-called lover to get away with this kind of shit any longer. When Yuki treated him like he had the night before, Shuichi's heart always broke just a little, the cracks spreading, deepening each time the writer lashed out at him. The terrible things Yuki said seemed to stick with him like weights, getting heavier and heavier with time, each and every insult he was dealt plunging him just a tiny bit further into a vast ocean of despair. Last night's fight had seemed to be the final push; the thing that had shattered his heart and caused him to drown in sadness.

He could take it no longer.

As Shuichi stood beneath the spray of water, he decided that he wanted Yuki to apologize. That was all. He just wanted to hear his lover say that he was sorry—not even that he wouldn't do it again, because if he did say that, Shuichi could be sure that he was lying. Shuichi hoped and prayed that somehow, magically, Yuki would sense this and would say it, first thing when he woke up and saw him, without having to be prompted or shrugged off. The pink-haired singer had asked God for very little throughout his life, but he asked God of this.

 _Please let Yuki understand,_ he asked. _Let him regret it._

 _And if he doesn't..._ Shuichi paused, but he already knew what followed, perhaps even before it had become a conscious thought within his mind.

 _Then…I'm done._

When he stepped out of the bathroom to get dressed, he saw that Yuki's bed was empty, and heard noise coming from the kitchen. Though he dreaded it, Shuichi stepped into his clothes and followed the sounds, mentally pausing to compose himself before he entered the threshold of the kitchen. He wasn't sure, exactly, how he wanted to present himself, but he knew above all else that this time, he wouldn't grovel, no matter what mood Yuki might be in. At the end of the day, it simply wasn't his fault, so he shouldn't have to apologize.

 _What kind of love is it if you only get it by accepting blame for every single thing that happens, even if it isn't your fault? By ignoring everything that's really going on and letting yourself be treated like a second-class citizen? By settling for respect only half the time?_

When Shuichi entered, Yuki was leaning against the counter, sipping a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette, as per usual. Nothing to eat, though recently Shuichi had noticed that Yuki often skipped meals all together. _Probably just fills up on beer all day_ , Shuichi decided with a hint of resentment. _What a healthy guy he is!_

As the pink-haired singer made his way into the kitchen, he refused to look at Yuki, though he could feel, unmistakably, that the writer's eyes were following him. Though it felt uncomfortable and unnatural to ignore the love of his life, Shuichi was determined not to give in. He went to the table and grabbed a piece of fruit from the bowl placed in the center. As he bit into the apple he'd chosen, he began to dig through his bag, completely disregarding Yuki's attempts to make eye-contact with him.

"So," the older man spoke after a moment, "Not gonna say 'good morning'? I was holding my breath, waiting for you to start screaming about the spider again. I'm so proud that you could handle it all by yourself, kiddo."

His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Good morning," Shuichi said coolly, not bothering to acknowledge what he'd said about the spider, all the while refusing to look up at his lover, hoping it would irritate him. He glanced down at his notebook, which lay open in front of him, and picked up his pen as he tried to think of some song lyrics to write.

"Trying to write?" Yuki scoffed, taking an obnoxiously loud sip of his coffee. "You haven't figured out yet that you're no good?"

At that, Shuichi finally looked up, glaring at the man he had called his lover, perhaps more intensely than ever before. If it made Yuki angry, it seemed not to matter to him, not anymore. Shuichi searched and searched in his lover's gaze for any hint of remorse for the remark, but he found none. That made him care even less. "Why is it that the only things you can say to me are mean?"

Yuki took a step closer and smiled at him, but the smile was anything but pleasant. It was full of contempt, bitterness and that creeping hatred that Shuichi was able to detect more and more as time went on. It was, truthfully, an expression which made Shuichi feel sick—which was amazing in and of itself, since in the past nothing had made Shuichi happier than seeing his lover smile. "Ah, I hurt your feelings? You think you deserve better?"

It was at that moment that Shuichi realized something: the scornful theory he'd had about his lover's drinking may have been more than just speculation after all. He could smell alcohol on Yuki's breath, more so than he had ever before, even after he'd come home late to find the writer still dutifully typing away at his keyboard, surrounded by empty beer cans and smoldering cigarettes, when he was typically at his drunkest, whatever that was.

 _He woke up after me and he's already drunk? He couldn't even wait until after I left for work?_

It was more than the pink-haired singer felt he could take. Shuichi's eyes were filling with tears, but he tried his best to will them away, to stay strong, knowing it would only add to Yuki's satisfaction if he were to show his weakness so openly.

"Yes," Shuichi said softly, drawing on whatever confidence was left within him. "And yes, I do. I know I do."

At that, Yuki chuckled. It was a sound that chilled Shuichi. He had never felt so cold and alone in his life, he thought.

"No, kiddo, you don't. But if you hate it so much, you're more than welcome to leave, though I don't think there's another living soul who would even _bother_ to put up with you to the extent I do. Now get lost so I can finish this damn book. Don't bother me."

Yuki left the kitchen, and the door to his study slammed shut.

 _Don't worry,_ Shuichi thought as he packed up his bag. In went his mug, a few of his clothes, his favorite video tapes. _I won't bother you anymore._

 _You'll never change_ , he thought, putting on his coat. _Not for me, anyway._

 _But I don't really care_ , he decided.

Shuichi put his key to the apartment on the kitchen table and left for work.

* * *

In his study, Yuki took a long swig of his coffee, to which he'd added a tall shot of whiskey. He stared down at his keyboard for quite awhile and didn't move. It was as though he could not bring himself to press a single key—that he felt something terrible might happen if he did.

"I'll make it up to him tomorrow," he said softly after a long time. "Once I finish this bitch."

Then he started to type, and sighed in relief as he did, as though he'd satisfied some cosmic force, prevented a karmic disaster from occurring. It was as though he thought those words alone had fixed things.

If only he had said them to his lover, they might have.

* * *

A/N: Hey! Just wanted to give some back story. I'm actually not at all familiar with writing for this series. I was recently introduced by one of my good friends. We watched a few episodes and she left all the discs with me. I wasn't gonna watch them but then one day I said, "Satan take the wheel daddy" and a few drunken binging sessions later I had finished all the episodes. I have not read the manga. So if throughout the course of this story there are any mistakes or if I get something wrong, I apologize in advance.

I hope to update soon, and if people like it I'll shoot for once a week. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed. Review if you like.

Ya girl, Rick :)


	2. Chapter 2

_As their lips pulled apart, she murmured softly, almost regretfully, "Goodbye. I'm sorry, but it's over. It has to be." And she walked off, leaving her broken-hearted lover to languish alone. And he cried. And cried. And cried._

Yuki leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen of his computer, reading and re-reading this paragraph over and over—the last paragraph, he decided, that he planned to write. Early morning had crept into night and inevitably back into morning once again, and though it had been a hellish stint of work, Yuki finally felt that he could call his novel finished, without having defied any of the compulsive tendencies that had always seemed to dictate his writing. "Think that's it…" he said softly, rather groggily. His mind felt foggy and muddled from copious amounts of alcohol, and the smell of smoke hung heavy in the unvented room. "It's shit, but it's done. The girls'll eat it up—just enough fan service to save it."

He didn't get up, at least not right away. He continued to read those last few sentences, and it was then that he realized just how unlike his previous works this book had turned out to be. _The ending isn't happy_ , he thought to himself after a moment, as though too afraid to say the words aloud. It occurred to him that the prospect of this actually disturbed him, more than he would ever care to admit. _All of my other books have ended with some sappy romantic shit, because that's what they all love. But this is…it's sad. And it's not good, but…if I change it…it won't be_ _ **right**_ _. In_ _ **this**_ _story, it's just what happens…this was inevitable, unfortunately…and I just gotta leave it. I wouldn't want to stay with someone like him either, the way I made him treat her._

Saving his work and quickly composing an email to his editor which included his completed draft, Yuki took a celebratory swig of the remainder of his alcoholic coffee—the fifth he'd had since beginning that morning, whenever that was—and then clicked the 'send' button. Closing the lid to his computer, the blond-haired man got up and stalked over to the couch, which sat against the opposite wall, stumbling and practically falling onto it as he did. Turning to lay on his back after a moment, Yuki stared up at the ceiling, which seemed to spin and swirl before his eyes, letting out a pained groan that turned into a sleepy yawn. Almost immediately, thoughts of the novel—the thing he had been staring at for the past thirty-six hours, ignoring everything else all the while—seemed to flee from his mind entirely, leaving it open to be promptly and fully invaded by a strange, foreign emotion he could only barely identify.

He knew he regretted something, but he was not sure _what_ , exactly.

"Oh, hell," he said quietly, his eyes drooping. "I fucked something up. Something's wrong. Not the book. Something else."

And then he thought, and was filled with subsequent, unintelligible dread: _I've been alone since yesterday morning. Alone. No noise…no sounds…just quiet…so quiet…_

Before he could process what this really meant, Yuki closed his eyes fully and gave into a deep, deep sleep.

* * *

When Yuki woke up once again, the first thing he saw was that the room—although no longer spinning—was very dark. The only light—or rather, perhaps more appropriately, the absence of _total_ darkness—came in from the big picture window, whose views sported the bustle of the nighttime cityscape in all its grandeur. The sparkling lights were always beautiful to look at, undoubtedly, but now they cast the room's sparse furnishings in distorted, unpleasant shadows. Yuki sat up slowly, a hand on his pounding head as he glanced around, trying to get his bearings about him. The clock on the near-empty bookshelf told him that it was almost eight in the evening, and he could hardly believe his eyes.

"I slept the whole day?" he said aloud, reaching over and turning on the lamp beside the couch. His disbelief subsided however as he looked over to his desk and saw that it was littered with beer cans. Rolling his eyes to himself, he sighed, now understanding why he could hardly remember the day before. "Of course you slept all day. You're lucky you even woke up at all, drunk."

Yuki stood up, stretching and yawning softly, hearing his stiffened joints creak like an old tree in the wind. As he gazed over at his desk once again, he saw his computer, the unfriendly, uninviting gleam of its shiny metal surface, and felt a surge of relief come over him when he realized that he wouldn't have to touch the thing for at least a few months. Despite his throbbing headache, he actually felt much better than he had in quite some time—probably since finishing the previous novel, now that he came to think about it. It was as though the idea alone that he was now free from writing, at least for a time, had lifted a great weight off his chest, and he would let no physical pain undermine that. A headache would pass in a few hours—but he'd rode out the frustration of writing that stinking book for nearly half a year.

"Mm. At least it's finished. Thank God," he said quietly, waltzing over to his desk and sitting down, as though he didn't have a care in the world. "Wonder what my editor decided to bitch about this time."

He reached for his computer, curious to see the email he had undoubtedly already received from the editor in question, which was sure to include any corrections she'd made, along with the potential final draft of his novel. As per usual, she would wait to send the copy to the print office until she'd gotten his approval, but when it came to his most recent novels, he hadn't even bothered to read any final drafts, and at best would sometimes skim over the corrections list without interest. He was always quick to approve her work—whatever it may be that she had decided to send, even if he usually didn't agree with the changes she made—merely because he knew that the sooner he consented, the sooner he'd never have to deal with the books again. He had started to hate them, he decided. Started to hate writing, maybe.

As he turned the computer on, he found himself starting to smile as he was greeted with the screensaver he saw every day—something that usually annoyed him but now seemed to make him oddly jovial. It was a picture of he and Shuichi when they'd been out on one of their dates, a date that he remembered quite well in fact: he had promised to take his younger lover to his favorite amusement park to make up for something he'd said—he didn't even remember what it _was_ , to be honest—in the heat of finishing up his last novel, when he'd been tense and angry almost every day. He remembered how afterwards Shuichi had somehow gotten his computer password and decided that with it he would change the backdrop from its usual calming photo of the mountains—a picture which usually served to calm Yuki when he felt very stressed from his work—to the photo of them standing together on the pier, the sun just beginning to set behind them. The picture had caught Yuki with his arm around his small lover, planting an affectionate kiss on the pink-haired singer's flushed cheek. Shuichi, in turn, was beaming.

When Yuki confronted him on the matter—albeit quite gently, as he didn't want to risk hurting Shuichi's feelings once again, though his computer had always been a very sacred thing to him and secretly he was fuming—Shuichi had just smiled. "I thought it was a nice photo. We're both having fun and we both look happy. It feels like we're really in love when I look at that picture. I was thinking that if you could always see that, maybe it'd make you think twice before you say something mean to me."

And because he was so stunned by this—or rather, filled with guilt, though he would never admit it—Yuki had left the picture as it was.

Sighing softly, Yuki found himself getting lost for a moment in the beauty of his lover as he stared at that photo. He thought about Shuichi's silky hair, his smooth, powdery skin, his bright, sparkling eyes and his big, stupid smile. He thought about how much he loved to hear the singer's laugh, or how he actually enjoyed it when Shuichi would launch into passionate rambling about this or that—again, things he would never admit.

"God, I miss all the noise," he said softly. A moment later his eyes widened and he stood up, practically knocking his chair over.

 _Wait_ , he thought to himself, feeling his heart began to race, cold sweat beading on his forehead. _I haven't seen him since…since yesterday morning. Yesterday morning…what the hell happened yesterday morning? Did I...oh shit…I haven't even heard the door open…phone hasn't rung…oh my god…where is he?_

He looked at the clock again, gulping down bile. He knew that Shuichi always came home before eight, as he was intent to eat dinner with his lover—and in that sense, Yuki knew he was very punctual, though he was almost always late for everything else. Though he supposed Shuichi could have gotten held up at work, it worried him—more than he could even begin to comprehend—when he racked his brain and realized that he couldn't recall receiving any indication that the singer had actually come home the night before. Usually, Shuichi would announce his arrival by loudly calling to Yuki, even if he knew better than to bother the writer by coming into his study, and would then proceed to either begin singing or watching his video tapes of Nittle Grasper at an obnoxiously high volume. By then, Yuki usually gave up for the night, resigning to spend time with his small lover, as there was no way he could focus with all the ruckus. But last night, it had been so silent, and the writing had just sped by, distractions minimal.

At the time, he had been thankful for it.

Hurrying out of his office, Yuki stood in the hallway and looked around, almost frantically. The darkness of the apartment was the next thing to really worry him. Yuki remembered that during one of the periods of writer's block he'd encountered the day before, he had decided to stretch his legs and had gone around the loft, walking through the rooms distractedly as he thought about the best direction to take his story. He had gotten annoyed at how bright the place was—all the lights coupled with the natural sunshine coming in through the windows had felt very overwhelming, and he had turned them all off in a huff. Yuki knew that Shuichi wasn't a fan of the dark, and if he had come home and seen all of the lights off like this, the writer was certain he would have made a point to flip them all on, flooding the place with obnoxious illumination once again. _Does that mean he hasn't been home_ _ **since**_ _yesterday afternoon, when I turned them all off?_ Yuki thought as he stood there, shrouded in shadow.

Feeling disoriented, Yuki could sense his emotions rising to near panic, but tried to regain his usual composure, forcing himself to take a deep breath. _Come on,_ he thought, reassuring himself, _this is Shu we're talking about. I'm sure he's fine. Maybe he just went to bed early tonight._

Heading over to the bedroom to see if his hunch was correct, Yuki held his breath and opened the door slowly, cautiously. Flipping on the lights, his heart sunk to see that the bed was empty—the sheets and blankets rumpled, just the way he'd left them yesterday morning when he got up and made his way to the kitchen to get drunk. However, his ears suddenly perked up and it was then that he realized he could hear a steady, soothing sound coming from the bathroom—the shower, he decided after a moment. Looking towards the bathroom, he saw light coming from beneath the door, a sight which comforted him more than he cared to admit.

Yuki let out a huge sigh of relief, a small smile creeping onto his face. "God, kiddo," he said aloud, though he doubted Shuichi would be able to hear him over the sound of the water. "You scared the shit out of me."

It was then that Yuki decided he wanted to spend a bit of time with his lover. Though they had seen each other practically every day since they'd met, Yuki was not blind to the fact that he certainly had not gone out of his way to really connect with Shuichi these last few weeks; in fact, he had been known to not only forgo dates and spending time with the singer in favor of working on his book, but often chose to refrain from even simple interaction with Shuichi—skipping meals together, ignoring Shuichi's attempts to strike up conversation, refusing to answer his calls. The worst of it—and he knew this—was the way he treated Shuichi during their lovemaking. His romantically-inclined writing, and all the nuances of the relationships he created, often left him feeling extremely pent up and frustrated, and after a long day of giving so much love and attention to these fictional couples of his, devoting himself to the growth of their relationships into something beautiful and divine, something his readers could savor, he almost always felt himself unable, and unwilling, to extend the same to Shuichi, his real lover. And he used him, like a toy—never bothering with foreplay, or spending time to care for how he might feel. He did what he wanted to Shuichi and then went right to sleep, each and every night. It often felt like he was cheating on Shuichi with the characters in his novel.

Despite his hangover, Yuki resolved that tonight he would do whatever he could to make Shuichi feel as special and adored as possible. He knew—without even having to remember everything he had said—that he had been far from loving to Shuichi, and that the least he could do was show the singer some well-deserved affection.

 _Maybe I'll take him to the amusement park tomorrow if he's not working,_ Yuki thought, and began to undress. _But tonight, I'm gonna make him feel so good, he'll go nuts._

Stripping off the remainder of his clothing and throwing it to the floor, Yuki crept quietly towards the bathroom, his excitement growing as he placed his hand on the smooth wood of the door. Leaning against it, he listened closely, the sound of the running water becoming much clearer. He sighed in anticipation, closing his eyes.

"Shu?" he cooed softly. "I hope you're decent, kiddo, cuz I'm coming in."

Yuki pushed the door open, feeling the steamy air envelop him immediately, a sensation which only seemed to heighten his excitement and anticipation. Turning his gaze towards the shower, Yuki found himself immediately presented with a rather alluring prospect: he could see the silhouette of his bathing lover behind the shower curtain, which was pulled to full privacy, leaving nothing to be seen and everything to be desired. The normal Yuki would have been content to yank back the shower curtain and pounce on his unsuspecting lover like something from a movie, but tonight he decided he wanted to try a more charming, sexy approach—something that would leave Shuichi's mouth watering with desire the way he often left Yuki's.

"Oh, Shu," Yuki purred, pushing the bathroom door closed behind him and taking a step towards the shower. "Hope you don't mind, but I heard you in here and I just couldn't resist. What do you say if I join you? You know, give you a hand washing up? I can help you with those…hard to reach areas…"

Silence resounded, and at first Yuki was confused as he watched the figure behind the curtain freeze in place, as though in shock. However, a moment later Yuki let out a chuckle, deciding that his little lover must be playing hard to get, or was possibly just nervous. The prospect of either possibility only excited him further.

"Oh, come now, Shu, you don't have to be shy," Yuki said softly, taking another step nearer to the shower until he was close enough to reach out and grip the edge of the curtain. "God, you look nice like this—putting on a coy little show for me behind that curtain."

Once again, the figure remained frigidly still, and though Yuki was surprised that Shuichi was not more receptive to his sultry temptations, he was determined not to give up the game just yet, as he was sure Shuichi would come around with just a little more persuasion. "Aw, come on, kiddo…I know you're probably mad, but I promise I won't bite so much this time…"

With that, Yuki pulled back the curtain fully, and almost at once, the blond writer realized that the sight before him was not nearly as tantalizing as he had thought—not at all, in fact. Actually, it made him immediately want to vomit.

His younger brother, Tatsuha Uesugi, stood beneath the spray of the shower, his black hair dripping with water and plastered to the sides of his face and his forehead. The bar of soap and sponge clutched in his hands were held strategically over his body, covering his privates. The young monk smiled sheepishly at him, his cheeks flushed. "Oh, hey there, Eiri. I'm in town for a few days and I just wanted to stop by and say hello! I bet you're surprised. Boy, you sure talk dirty to your man, huh? Sometimes I fantasize about Ryuichi talking to me like that!"

The writer was absolutely stunned, certain he was about to faint.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" he screamed after a moment, loud enough that the neighbors could hear it. "How the hell do you always manage to get in anyway?!"

He yanked the curtain back into place without waiting for an answer, his own cheeks now bright red as he stormed out of the bathroom. He was not about to have a conversation with his younger brother while he was in the shower, and while both of them were completely naked, at that.

Tatsuha didn't seem to mind, however. "Oh, well that's a funny story actually, I—" Tatsuha cut himself off, suddenly screaming loudly. "Oh geez, there's a _big_ spider in here! Eiri, help! I'm not supposed to kill any living creature, so you'll have to do it! Oh, it's coming towards me! Eiri!"

Ignoring his brother's wailing, Yuki slammed the door shut and found his jeans, quickly pulling them back on, grumbling all the while about the stupidity of his siblings.

By the time he had redressed and left the bedroom, Yuki's flustered embarrassment had melted back into worry. _So if that was my ridiculous brother,_ he thought, _then where's Shuichi?_

His heart beginning to race once again, Yuki realized he still had the living room and kitchen yet to check. Hurrying through the hallways, turning on lights as he went, he prayed silently that he would find Shuichi watching his videos as usual, though his hopes were quickly dashed when he realized that he could not hear the TV. Yuki remembered—albeit vaguely—that two nights ago, _something_ had happened and for some reason which escaped him, he had told Shuichi to sleep on the couch. _Maybe he thought he wasn't allowed back in the bedroom and so he's sleeping in there?_ Yuki thought hopefully. But when he entered, he saw that the couch was empty, aside from Tatsuha's suitcase.

Feeling his worry spike at what seemed to be an all-time high, Yuki practically ran into the kitchen, though he could tell before he'd even entered that it was no use. Like the rest of the house, it was dark and empty. His heart having sunk so low that it was practically in his stomach, Yuki flipped on the light switch and grimly surveyed the sterile-white countertops. There was the nearly empty pot of coffee that he'd made yesterday morning, along with the bottle of whiskey he'd used to spike his drink. A few empty cans of beer that he'd neglected to pick up were strewn around.

"God," Yuki said aloud, regretfully. "I was drunk. I was drunk and he was crying. I must've…did I…did I _do_ something to him?"

He looked over to the kitchen table, where the apple that Shuichi had started to eat still sat, now brown and rotting. A sluggish fly buzzed around it. Yuki watched it for a while, numb, until he noticed something else, something which seemed to make his heart stop all together.

A shiny brass key sat on the table, gleaming in the bright light which shone down from the sleek hanging lamp above. Yuki didn't need to get any closer to examine it—he already knew what it was, and what it _meant_.

"He left his key here," Yuki said, and sat down at the table, practically collapsing into the chair. It felt in that moment as though the world had just crumbled around him.

 _I_ _ **did**_ _hurt him. I knew it. I hurt Shuichi and I was too drunk and too possessed by that damn book to realize it. I hurt my Shuichi._

He sat that way for a long time—lost in a downward spiral of raw emotions and remorseful thoughts—before finally reaching into the pocket of his jeans and removing his cell-phone. He hadn't checked it in almost three days, but he saw that the only message he'd received was from his editor, bragging that she liked the novel and that it was sure to be a bestseller with the help of her corrections. The only thing she hadn't cared for was the ending. But Yuki could say with total honesty that he really didn't give a shit; all he could feel in that moment was a sensation of sheer, unyielding emptiness.

"It wasn't fucking worth it," he whispered, and slowly began to dial Shuichi's number, praying with whatever hope remained inside of him that he'd answer. _Please just give me a chance to fix this,_ he begged silently. _Answer it, Shu. Please._

It was the first time he had ever been the one to initiate a call between them.

* * *

In a small apartment across town, Shuichi sat on a worn leather sofa, staring at the TV across from him without interest, even though what he was watching—one of his many Nittle Grasper tapes—had always been his favorite. When the door opened and his best friend Hiroshi Nakano walked in, carrying two boxes of pizza and a few cans of soda, Shuichi didn't even look up.

Hiro put the food on the coffee table in front of the couch and then sat down beside his friend, who merely sighed sadly, his eyes slipping closed. Frowning, Hiro opened one of the boxes, letting out the fragrant steam that had been trapped inside. "Don't tell me you're not hungry anymore. I ran across town for this."

"Actually, you drove. And it's not that," Shuichi said very quietly, his voice hardly above a whisper, as he picked up the remote and turned off the TV.

Hiro stared at Shuichi for a moment, knowing what his friend was upset about without even having to ask. It was the same thing that had been making him upset and sad for so long. The same person, to be more specific. In many ways, the whole situation was so frustrating to Hiro because he had tried so often to tell Shuichi that Yuki's behavior towards him was not normal and should not be tolerated—but no matter what it was, Shuichi always came up with some excuse to justify the horrible treatment he'd received and why, ultimately, he would stay with his lover another night. Hiro knew that it wasn't Shuichi's fault, and that he could not help who he had fallen in love with, but he often wondered why his friend couldn't see what everyone else could. Though he knew attempts to persuade the singer to leave Yuki often fell of deaf ears, Hiro believed strongly that it was his duty as a friend to at the very least try.

"Shuichi, I can see it in your eyes. You're thinking about going back there. But we both know it's a mistake," Hiro said, and reached over, brushing pink locks of hair off of Shuichi's forehead.

"I know," Shuichi said gently, leaning into Hiro's touch, rubbing his cheek against the hand which lingered there. "But I miss him. When he's sweet to me, he's so sweet, and I miss that part of him."

Hiro's frown only deepened at hearing this. He absolutely hated Yuki for what he'd done to his friend—the sort of mental abuse the guitarist knew he had been putting him through since their relationship began. It was obvious to Hiro that Yuki was content to treat the pink-haired musician like shit for as long as he could get away with it, only changing his behavior when he'd taken things too far and pushed Shuichi enough that the singer began to think about the possibility of leaving. Then of course Yuki would pretend to be sorry and go out of his way to shower him with affection, planting that seed of doubt in Shuichi's mind which kept him perpetually trapped in this awful relationship, this vicious circle. And just when he'd gotten Shuichi to commit to staying by his side once again, Yuki would let his behavior slip back to his previous abusiveness, just like that. Yuki had clearly done this to Shuichi many times before, whether the singer realized it or not, but it was no surprise to Hiro, who knew how people like him operated. They were deceptive, sociopathic, snake-like.

How he _hated_ Yuki Eiri. He hoped for the writer's sake that he never happened to be alone with him—he wasn't sure that he would be able to keep himself from doing something stupid should that ever occur.

 _Maybe that was why I bought a gun the other day. I had_ _ **him**_ _in mind,_ Hiroshi thought, but only for a second.

His hand beginning to caress Shuichi's cheek, Hiro said quietly, "I know, Shuichi. I know that sometimes he's sweet to you. But when he's mean to you…"

"He's awful," Shuichi answered before Hiro could finish, his eyes dim. "I know."

"Yes," Hiro said, and realized that this time, Shuichi understood.

It was at that moment that Shuichi's cell phone, sitting on the coffee table, began to ring. The two of them turned and looked down at the device, as though in slow motion—and both of them seemed to know who was calling even before they had seen the name on the screen. Hiro's insides knotted tightly, anger boiling inside him—but Shuichi's face lit up.

"Yuki's calling! _He's_ calling _me!_ He never calls me!" Shuichi exclaimed, and reached for the phone.

But before he could answer it, Hiro took hold of Shuichi's wrist, very gently, caressing it affectionately in his hands. Shuichi looked over at his friend in confusion, his eyes wide and searching. "Hiro…he's calling me…I bet he wants to apologize…I should…"

"Shhh," Hiro said softly, pressing the pointer finger of his unoccupied hand gently to Shuichi's lips. "Don't give in. Remember what he did to you."

Shuichi looked at the phone as it continued to ring, noticeably trembling, the terrible anxiety he felt in that moment now showing through clearly in his bleary gaze. The sound of the ringtone seemed almost deafening. Tears began to roll down his cheeks.

The sight alone—the sight of his best friend crumbling before him—made Hiroshi's heart shatter.

"Shuichi, look at me," he said gently, taking Shuichi's chin in his hand.

It took the singer awhile, but eventually he met Hiro's gaze. Staring into the guitarist's eyes, Shuichi realized that he suddenly felt safe, and loved, in fact—and understood immediately that everything was going to be okay after all. He wanted to get lost in that warm, compassionate stare and stay lost in it forever. "Hiro," he murmured, feeling more vulnerable than he had ever before in his life, it seemed. "You…you won't leave me, will you?"

Hiroshi stared at him for only a moment, and then he smiled. Shuichi decided that it was one of the most beautiful smiles he had ever seen.

"Never," Hiro answered immediately.

And then he leaned in and kissed Shuichi, gently but passionately. And a moment later, Shuichi kissed him back, without regret or hesitation.

They stayed that way until the phone had stopped ringing, pulling apart only to catch their breaths. And then when they were able, they kissed once again.

And Yuki sat at his kitchen table, alone, when they went into Hiroshi's bed together and stayed there until morning.

It was the most wonderful night Shuichi had had in a very long time.

* * *

A/N: And so I turned to Satan and said, "Keep driving, boi!"

Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. To Crystia, thanks for the review girl, hope Yuki's suffering was sufficient. Added the shower scene to really put him through hell.

Thanks for reading, please feel free to review with any comments or requests.

~Rick


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